


Too Late

by InsubstantialScribblings



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hayffie, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18499831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsubstantialScribblings/pseuds/InsubstantialScribblings
Summary: Effie hasn't spoken to Haymitch since the end of the war. How will she react when he reaches out to her on a visit to the Capitol more than a year later?





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> I came across this one in my files today and realised I had never posted it. Our lovely Hayffie Queen (Ellana-san) read it for me last year and said she liked it so hopefully it's not too bad!
> 
> I deleted all my other stuff a couple of months ago after receiving a rather strange complaint from someone who felt I had the characters give "bad advice" in one of my earlier stories. Now, I thought it was pretty obvious that fan fiction isn't meant to be an advice column, but apparently it isn't clear, hence the following disclaimer:
> 
> 'Characters in my stories may express thoughts and opinions which are not necessarily the "correct" or most socially, medically or morally acceptable ones. Neither are these necessarily my own opinions. If you are looking to be advised on any topic, that is not what I am offering.'

** TOO LATE **

Haymitch cursed and folded the useless map roughly, cramming it into the pocket of his overcoat. After twenty-five years of annual visits to the Capitol he’d thought he would know his way around pretty well, but the war had changed things more than he’d imagined. Rebuilding was well under way, but the layout of the streets was different, familiar landmarks were gone and now he was terribly disorientated.

There was still something about the apartment block across the street though. The façade looked new, but the basic shape was familiar and it somehow just felt right. As he glanced about him, trying to get his bearings, a figure approached the building from the left and mounted the steps to the front door, searching coat pockets for keys. Perfect. He could ask where exactly he was and perhaps they could direct him to where he wanted to go.

Haymitch hurried across the street, anxious not to lose this solitary sign of life. It wasn’t until he had set foot on the stairs that he noticed it. Blonde hair worn in a stylish chignon, revealing a familiar slender neck. That perfect deportment he would recognise anywhere.

“Effie?”

The figure startled and spun around to face him, blue eyes wide with fear until recognition softened her features.

“Haymitch.” It was barely more than a whisper.

In a sudden movement that seemed to surprise her just as much as it did him, her arms were around his neck, her cheek pressed against his. His own hands moved to the small of her back uncertainly. This wasn’t the reception he’d been anticipating.

She drew back after a moment, hands resting on his shoulders. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Had to come to the city for a few days. Couldn’t leave without looking you up. This is a surprise though – I wasn’t sure you’d see me.”

“That’s in the past now.” said Effie quietly. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret the way we parted. I said some awful things. It’s been over a year though, I’ve had plenty of time to think. I don’t blame you anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did. I know you never meant for me to be left behind. I needed someone to rage at back then and you were there. As time went on, I always hoped you’d call, but you never did.”

“Sweetheart, you told me you never wanted to hear from me again. I thought the least I could do was honour that after I’d let you down over everything else. I nearly didn’t come today. How come you never called _me_?”

“Cowardice,” she breathed, “pure and simple. After the things I’d said to you, I didn’t think you’d talk to me. Somehow the uncertainty was better than rejection.” She forced a bright smile over her vulnerable expression. “I’m so glad you’re here now though. And where are my manners, talking out here on the doorstep? You’ll come in?”

“Sure,” he nodded with a small smile, “lead the way.”

 

Effie unlocked the door and walked ahead of him to the elevator. She looked good, thought Haymitch. She’d put some weight back on and, although she’d evidently relinquished the more outrageous Capitol adornments like the wigs and crazy facepaint for good, she was still stylishly dressed and made up, still running about in ridiculously high heels.

“How come you’re in the city?” she asked as they rode up to her floor. “You swore you’d never set foot in this place again.”

“Had to come,” he confessed. “Katniss has a full day of assessments today. Dr Aurelius, some other court-appointed psychiatrists. They’ll present their findings at a hearing tomorrow and based on that… Well, we’re hoping she’ll be declared fully restored to sanity and Paylor will issue her pardon and lift her confinement to Twelve. Not sure it will make a massive difference to her, but at least she’ll have the option to go see her mother… maybe Annie, Rue’s family perhaps. Whichever way it falls out, we’ll be on a hovercraft back to Twelve tomorrow.”

“How’s she doing?” asked Effie. “I think about her a lot. About all of you.”

“Better than she was,” said Haymitch as they exited the elevator and Effie opened the door to her apartment, ushering him inside. “I wasn’t hopeful for a while there, but once Peeta came back she started to change. It’s all down to him really. Of course it’ll never properly be over for her, especially after her sister… You’d understand that better than most, I expect.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Effie, hanging up her coat and removing her shoes, motioning for him to do the same. “Only too well. Would you like to stay for dinner? Or do you need to get back to her?”

“Told her I’d see her in the morning. Long day for her and just being here… she’ll be exhausted. Peeta’s with her; he’ll make sure she’s ok.”

“Peeta’s here too?” squealed Effie with genuine delight.

“Yeah, well, we’re kind of a unit these days. There’s not one of us goes far without the others.”

“Still a team,” said Effie wistfully. “I wish I could see them.”

“Maybe we can sort something out after the hearing,” said Haymitch. “They’d be glad to see you again.”

“Marvellous!” said Effie, her old enthusiastic escort’s voice returning. “So… dinner? I prepared most of it before I left this morning; it won’t take long.”

“Well that would be great, Sweetheart,” replied Haymitch, raising his eyebrows. “So, Effie Trinket can cook now?”

“So rude!” retorted Effie. “Things can change, you know.”

Haymitch looked at her, his face turned serious, eyes boring into hers. “Some things can’t.”

“Yes. Well…” Flustered, Effie broke his gaze and sashayed through the hall to the open-plan kitchen and living space. “Would you like some wine? I’m guessing that comes under the heading of things that can’t change.”

“Please,” answered Haymitch as Effie located glasses and uncorked the bottle. “Couldn’t stick the sobriety. Reminded me too much of life in Thirteen. It’s not as much now though. I try not to. For the kids really.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Effie. “I’m sure you’re a great help to them.” She handed him his glass and turned her attention to the casserole dish she’d retrieved from the fridge, adding things to it and switching on the oven.

“Not sure it’s that way round,” muttered Haymitch to himself, taking a mouthful of his drink and wandering further into the living area. A collection of framed photographs was displayed on the sideboard at the far end of the room and he moved towards it. He recognised several of them from the few times he’d been here before, times they’d sneaked away from the Training Centre during the Games for an hour or two of escapism. Some were of Effie as a child, some of her with her family or friends. He was surprised to find one of himself -  a copy of a publicity shot from the 74th Games he thought - alongside similar ones of Katniss and Peeta. He frowned as his eyes fell on another new one. It was recent – Effie with her natural hair and new understated-yet-classy make-up. She was smiling into the camera, her cheek pressed up against that of a similarly grinning man of about her age. He was Capitol, no doubt about that. He wore eye make-up and his hair, whilst apparently for the most part an ordinary shade of brown, was shot through with vivid gold and copper highlights. Haymitch didn’t like the feeling that was slowly gripping his chest and stomach. He wanted to punch that ridiculous man, captured in an intimate pose with his…. She’s not yours, he reminded himself. She’s not been yours for a very long time, if in fact she ever was. Just let it go….

“Who’s the guy?” he blurted out in spite of his best intentions.

“Hmm?” said Effie, closing the oven door and straightening up. She picked up her glass of wine and came over to join him. “Oh. That’s Julius.”

“Your boyfriend,” he stated, hating the unmistakeable note of jealousy that had crept into his voice. “Serious?”

“I’ve been seeing him for about five or six months,” she replied, her eyes flicking to the photograph. “He’s a nice man.”

“ _Nice_.” sneered Haymitch, something hot bubbling up inside him.

“Don’t,” said Effie firmly and a little sadly. “Leave him alone, Haymitch. It’s not as though there’s a queue of people outside my door desperate to date the double-sided traitor. He’s kind. He’s good to me.”

“I’m sorry, Eff,” mumbled Haymitch. “Didn’t mean to upset you. I’m glad you’re not lonely.”

Effie fixed him with a sad stare. “Just because you have company, doesn’t mean you’re not lonely, Haymitch.”

He returned her gaze, reeled in by those big blue eyes – beautiful as a clear summer sky, but holding none of that carefree joy. It was still there, that gravitational pull…

He put down his glass and took a step towards her. She seemed to hold her breath as he entered her personal space. He took her glass from her fingers and set it down next to the photographs, reaching his hand forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. This was madness, yet he just couldn’t help himself. The voice of reason in his head went ignored as he placed one hand on the back of her neck and drew her towards him, bringing his lips softly to hers. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to consider what her response might be, but he wouldn’t have expected what came, not after all this time.

In a second, Effie had turned the soft contact into a desperate, messy and breathless assault on his mouth, all heat and violent tongue.  She tangled her fingers in his hair and trailed her mouth down his throat, never losing contact with his flesh.

“Fuck, Effie,” gasped Haymitch, “I’ve missed you. I’ve _missed_ you. I’ve _missed_ you.” He chanted the words like a spell he didn’t want to risk breaking.

Effie made no response, bent on actions rather than words. Her mouth found his again as she made quick work of unfastening his shirt, pushing the offending item back over his shoulders and down his arms to fall to the floor. She let out a small sigh at the sight and feel of his bare chest, her lips marking a trail of fire from one side to the other, pausing to run her tongue across each nipple. She stood back from him slightly, unbuttoning her blouse, and Haymitch needed no further encouragement. The flimsy material was discarded to the floor, closely followed by her lacy bra. When he took her breast in his mouth, teasing her nipple to hardness between his teeth, he felt something almost cleansing rush through him, something more than lust and arousal. It felt like coming home.

Effie was swiftly getting worked up, he could tell – little breathy moans escaped her lips at regular intervals and she had leaned back into the grip of his hands with her torso, pressing her groin against his and rubbing rhythmically against him as he continued to lavish his attention on her breasts. Her hands were on his back, fingernails scraping its contours until she dropped to her knees in front of him, hands cupping his ass briefly before moving to his belt buckle. His cock sprang free as soon as she released the restraints of his clothing, jutting straight out in front of him, eager for her touch. She caressed his balls with one hand, gripping the base of his shaft with the other and stroking him along his length. It took everything he had not to come right then and there. He had jerked off so many times this past year to the images of her face and body etched into his brain, to the memory of her touch, but the real thing was beyond compare. His blood seemed to scream in his ears as she licked around his head and took him into her mouth. She was using all the old tricks, everything she’d learnt he liked over the years and it was almost too much, it was too soon…

“Effie.” He dug his fingers into her shoulders in warning. “Effie, stop. I want… I need to come inside you.”

She released him and he whimpered slightly at the loss of her mouth around him, quickly pulling her to her feet and scooping her up into his arms. He contemplated dropping her onto the adjacent couch, but then turned to head for her bedroom, stepping out of his trousers and underwear as he went. They were kissing again, tongues entwined, always seeking to get deeper, to possess…

Haymitch laid her on her ample bed, kneeling beside her to release the fastenings of her pencil skirt and slip it from her body. She wasn’t wearing underwear and he felt himself throb at the thought. She quite often didn’t, he knew that. Sometimes it had been to tease him, but more often it was for some ridiculous fashion reason – lines under tight clothes or some such nonsense. Even though that’s what this was… had she thought of it as she’d embraced him on the doorstep, poured him wine in her kitchen? It was driving him wild.

Effie had bent both of her legs at the knee in anticipation and she was clearly expecting him to take her at once. He was certainly worked up enough and he could tell from her breathing that she was more than ready for him but, for some inexplicable reason, he felt compelled to delay, to reconnect with her in _all_ the old ways.

Very gently, he brushed his thumb the length of her core. It wasn’t much more than the ghost of a touch, but she was soaking wet for him and its effect was pronounced. Effie’s back arched up away from the mattress, a desperate whine escaping her lips. Haymitch quickly replaced his thumb with his tongue, losing himself in the pleasure of tasting her again, teasing her and bringing her ever closer to ecstasy. She was becoming increasingly vocal -  all breathy groans interspersed with a series of staccato cries – and he loved it so much that he kept delaying, delaying, never quite letting her climax despite the throbbing between his own legs, the tightness of his balls.

He was torturing her clit with his tongue, two fingers working hard inside her, when she spoke for the first time. “I need your cock,” she rushed out in a husky whisper, and, _fuck_ , Haymitch just couldn’t wait anymore. He moved his pelvis between her thighs and buried himself deep within her in one smooth thrust.

Effie grabbed at his hips, helping him to set the frantic pace they both needed. Everything else in the world faded away, leaving just the exquisite feeling of her tight around him, drawing him in, possessing him. Much as he never wanted it to end, he knew he couldn’t last long and he struggled to restrain himself, so wanting her to come with him still hard inside her…

She screamed for him then, a proper scream that bounced off her bedroom walls, and she was clenching tightly all around him and it was too much, too good, and he came with a rough cry into her shoulder. He collapsed his full weight onto her, breathless and sweaty, but she didn’t seem to mind, her hands on his buttocks, still pressing him into her. She was still quivering beneath him and after a few moments he rolled onto his back, keeping her close to him and covering them both with the bedclothes. A glance down at her revealed that her eyes were still tightly shut and he ran a hand soothingly up and down her spine, feeling ridiculously smug in the knowledge that he was the cause of the faint tremors that still ran through her at regular intervals. They lay like that for some time, unspeaking, but satisfied and still.

Her room had not changed much, he thought to himself, glancing around lazily. The weird ornaments were the same, her silver hairbrush still lay on the dressing table next to the treasured mahogany jewellery box. She was lucky that her building had not been badly affected by the fighting like so much of the city. He was glad to know she’d still had her home after everything she’d been through and the familiarity was strangely comforting to him too.

Something wasn’t right though. The objects on the nightstand on his side of the bed. A distinctly masculine-looking clock and a pair of cufflinks. Someone else had shared Effie’s bed and probably recently. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but he couldn’t help the white-hot rage that burned inside of him as he thought of that other man lying here in _his_ place, touching _his_ Effie…

“Does _he_ make you feel like that?” The words were out before he could even think of controlling them. A visceral reaction.

“What?” mumbled Effie drowsily. Her body stiffened as the meaning of his words became clear to her. She exhaled. “Haymitch. Please don’t.”

He couldn’t let it go though. What was it? Male pride? Jealousy? How could it be jealousy when she wasn’t even his? Except she was, wasn’t she? Every fibre of his being screamed that she was.

“Does he?” he insisted, “Your _nice man_? Does he make you come like that?”

“No!” Effie half shouted, pushing herself up to a seated position. “You know he doesn’t! No-one can! No-one can because you ruined me for anyone else! Look what you turned me into! I’m a terrible person. He doesn’t deserve to be cheated on, yet I did it so easily! I have no control when it comes to you, I never have! And you always play with me, you disrupt everything and then you leave me in the wake of the hurricane wondering what the _fuck_ just happened! Why do you do it? It’s the power, isn’t it? You have to win, you have to….”

Haymitch did the only thing he had ever done when she was hysterical. He sat up and kissed her. Not affectionately, but forcefully, brutally even. She resisted him at first, but then let herself go, responding in kind and challenging him. Their hands were on each other’s bodies, Haymitch just feeling the first stirrings of potential renewed arousal, when she broke away, a look of fury still in her eyes.

 “Why? Why are you doing this to me, Haymitch? Why do I let you? Why do you _still_ take my heart and my body and make them useless for anyone else?”

Her voice had become shrill, tears had appeared in her eyes and spilled out onto her cheeks, her breathing was uneven and he couldn’t bear to hear this heartbreak of which he was the cause, he just needed her to stop…

“Because I have no choice!” he thundered, “Because I have to! Because I love you, damn it!”

The silence in that second was palpable. He hadn’t meant to say that. Those words he hadn’t spoken in over twenty-five years. He heard her sharp intake of breath then, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He was stuck in time, unable to move forward or back.

Of course, she came to his rescue. Kneeling up between his legs, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. It wasn’t like before. This kiss was gentle, tender and sweet, not really like anything they’d ever shared. It stirred something within him though, something soft and long-abandoned, and he thought he liked it. He lay back down, bringing her with him, hands roaming slowly with none of the earlier fever, discovering her reactions to this way of touching her. They kissed and stroked each other for the longest time until they were both ready and then it was completely different – slow and sensual, this was no fight for release. It was a journey, a message conveying all they’d never said.

They slept afterwards, right there in each other’s arms. Haymitch awoke to the sound of Effie whispering his name. He steeled himself. This was exactly the kind of situation he couldn’t deal with. She would be expecting some meaningful statement, a heartfelt conversation, and he just couldn’t. It didn’t mean he didn’t _feel_ it, but to look her in the eye and discuss it -  he just couldn’t.

“Effie…” he began with great trepidation.

“I think I burned the dinner,” she blurted out. The smell of smoke registered in his nostrils and suddenly it was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard.

“I knew it!” he stuttered between chuckles, “I knew Effie Trinket cooking was too crazy to be true!”

His laughter was infectious and they found themselves dealing with the cremated casserole in a sort of hysteria, doubled up with tears running down their cheeks. They showered together after, soaping each other’s hair amidst continued fits of giggles.

It was a jovial atmosphere in which they sat down to a feast of toast and jam, washed down with the wine opened hours earlier. They discussed the rebuilding in the city and in Twelve. Haymitch talked about his geese and Peeta’s plans for the bakery, Effie told him about the admin job Plutarch had secured for her. It was domestic and light-hearted and just unexpectedly _easy_.

“I’m going to have to get going real soon, Sweetheart,” said Haymitch eventually with a heavy heart. “We’ve got the 8 am slot for the hearing so it’ll be an early start and I don’t want Katniss to wake up and find that I’m not there.”

“Oh, of course,” said Effie, pushing back her chair and beginning to clear the table. “I’ve kept you so long already.”

Haymitch was distinctly uneasy as he swallowed the last of his wine. As awkward as he felt about it, he’d expected her to confront the elephant in the room before they parted, but it was starting to look as though he was very much mistaken. What had she said earlier? That uncertainty was better than rejection? It was looking very much as though this would be down to him. And maybe it should be. She’d been a lot more open about her feelings over the years and he had always shot her down. She was protecting herself and giving him a way out by not referencing his earlier outburst, but she surely couldn’t still doubt the truth of it, not after what had passed between them next? He hadn’t been able to say any more, but he’d _shown_ her, hadn’t he? Perhaps it still hadn’t been enough.

“Sweetheart? I was thinking… Tomorrow. You should come. To the courthouse, I mean. Come to the hearing. The kids would appreciate the support, seeing a friendly face.”

Effie’s face flushed with genuine pleasure. “Really? Oh, I’d be honoured to help them in any way I can. If you truly think they’d want to see me.”

“Course they would. And Effie?” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Bring your stuff, yeah? Come back with us.”

Effie tilted her head to one side and regarded him questioningly. “You’re asking me to come for a visit? It’s a bit sudden… I’m owed some time off though; I suppose it might work if I ask nicely.”

It would be easy to leave it at that, he thought. Just bring her back with them for now. Say more later. Except he knew he wouldn’t. His resolve would fade away again, he’d be too much of a coward later back in Twelve, back in his comfort zone. He’d already come so far this evening. He could push himself that little bit further, couldn’t he? Now or never?

“No. I’m not asking you to visit. I’m asking you to pack up everything. Bring what you can carry. Break up with that guy. Come be with us, for good. With me.” His heart was racing in his chest. Living through the Games, masterminding a rebellion, surviving a war – all those things he’d done with less fear than he felt right now, standing wide open and exposed before her.

Effie’s face was white and she stared at him unblinkingly, her expression unreadable. She was silent for a long time and when she spoke it seemed to be more of an inner monologue than addressed to him.

“Go to live in Twelve. I can’t just… my apartment, my job… It’s madness. The people… they’d never accept me there.”

“You’d be accepted; you’d be with us. The job doesn’t matter – there’s any number of admin jobs in Twelve. Or other things, better things, or nothing at all. You can rent out the apartment, sell it, it doesn’t matter. And yeah, maybe it is crazy. Sure, we’d fight half the time, spend the other half making up. Just ’cos it’s crazy, doesn’t mean it isn’t right. I walked away from you once before; I’m not gonna have that on me again. I know this is what I want. Now you need to decide. Be with me, your team. Or stay here in this dead city with your nice man, your vanilla sex, going through the motions, not living, not _feeling_.”

Effie still stood there wide-eyed, silent and motionless and suddenly he couldn’t be there a moment longer with all his armour ripped away, everything laid bare. Perhaps she’d been right after all. Maybe uncertainty _was_ better than rejection. He turned on his heel and retreated, lifting his coat from the rack in the hall and reaching for the door handle.

“Haymitch.”

Effie had followed him on silent feet. She stretched out one shaking hand toward him. Haymitch took it and squeezed once. “Don’t say anything. You know where I stand. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe I won’t. Be happy, Effie.”

 

The long walk back to his lodgings that night did nothing to disperse the knot in his stomach. He should never have come, should never have awoken this, stayed blissfully unaware. If it hadn’t been for the hearing, he’d have lost himself in the bottom of a bottle, spent the night in unconsciousness. As it was, he saw every hour until the grey dawn from his armchair, a decade of memories of Effie running through his head.

 

At breakfast, Peeta glanced between him and Katniss with concern, both of them monosyllabic and utterly spent. By the time they stood in an upstairs corridor of the courthouse, waiting to be called, Haymitch seemed to be in a state of near collapse. He leaned heavily on the windowsill, looking out on the almost-deserted street. Rebellion or not, most of the Capitol still struggled to rouse itself early. To steady himself, he tracked what little movement there was outside: the flight of a small bird across the cloudy sky, the progress of a solitary black car gliding slowly down the road.

 

“Katniss Everdeen? The court is ready for you.”

Peeta’s hand touched Haymitch’s shoulder tentatively. “Haymitch? It’s time.”

“Yeah,” he growled, “I’ll be right there.”

 

The kids crossed the hall to the courtroom and Haymitch breathed in deeply, pushing away from the windowsill to turn and follow them. And there it was. A flash just at the corner of his vision. Blonde hair. Perfect deportment. And a pile of suitcases.

Haymitch flew along the corridor and down two flights of stairs with all the speed and vigour of a man half his age. Effie barely knew what had hit her as he barrelled into her, crushing her to him in an almost suffocating embrace. And then she was kissing him and he couldn’t think anymore and it didn’t matter, nothing else mattered anymore.

When she finally drew back she was laughing, blue eyes bright and smiling. Casting an anxious glance toward the courthouse, she checked her watch and looked back to him.

“Is it too late?”

“Sweetheart, it’s never too late.”


End file.
